(eng) Alan Burt Akers - Dray Prescot 26 by Allies of Antares

Author:Allies of Antares [Antares, Allies of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter thirteen

Princess Thefi and Lobur the Dagger

There is a venerable saying on Kregen, attributed to various sources, among whom scholars squabble most fiercely over the competing claims of Nalgre ti Liancesmot, a long-dead playwright, and San Blarnoi, a possibly mythical figure or consortium of wise men of the past, which runs: “When you look too long upon the face of a leem you may grow a leem’s tail.”

As I stowed the flier in a patch of woods and started out to walk into King Telmont’s camp, I recalled this saying, and its meaning. Typically Kregan is that modifier, “May.” If you take that ferocious eight-legged hunting beast, the leem, as a symbol for terror and horrific evil, then Kregans do not say if you fight against monsters or devils you will turn into a monster or a devil. You may possibly not grow a leem’s tail.

Never think for an instant that I was unaware that because of the deeds I had been called on to perform on Kregen I might grow to be like those against whom I struggled. There are two orders of fighting men, and I believe if you have listened to my words through my story you will understand the kind of fighting man I am, whether or not fate played a part in that. If you do not see that, then I have been spending my breath to no avail.

So, as I walked between the outlying totrix lines with those fractious six-legged saddle animals tugging at the ropes, I pondered how I would react when face-to-face with Vad Garnath and his evil associate, the Kataki Strom.

Bone-headed heroes of many of the stirring tales of Kregen would simply barge in swinging. I’d been like that, once upon a time. I still was, Zair forgive me, but I had learned — not much, a little, enough to make me look first; and that, by Vox, makes the doing of the deed a thousand times harder and more dangerous.

“Hey, dom!” called the bristle-haired Brokelsh Deldar. “You tazll?”

“Aye, dom.”

“Then join my pastang, we have a vacancy since that onker Norlgo drank himself into the well. You look handy.”

“What happened to Norlgo?”

“Why, he drank himself into the well.”

I stopped. The path had been churned up by military boots, some of the ranked tents were decrepit, most were in that middle stage of life when repairs were constant, and only a half-dozen were new. Flags fluttered. Men moved about over the endless fatigues inseparable from an army encampment.

“How so?”

“I told you, dom. Norlgo thought he would drink a score of flagons, and he could only manage sixteen and then he fell down the well and cracked his head open.”

“Oh, I see. Let me look around first, Deldar, as to which pastang I join.”

“As you wish. It’s all the same to me. But you’ll find none as open-handed as our Jiktar, who spreads gold every pay day with a lavish hand.”

“I thank you for your information.” Walking down, casual, not hurrying, it seemed clear to me that recruits were welcomed here.

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